


intertwined

by ohhgoodgravy



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Fluff, Late Night Conversations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:40:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25493263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhgoodgravy/pseuds/ohhgoodgravy
Summary: Simon never really felt too sure of himself in any aspect of his life; But now—with Baz—he was sure for the first time.Sure of his place and where he belongs; Sure that he loves Baz and is loved back; Sure of what he wants and of what he needs: Baz.He is where he belongs.Simon and Baz.Baz and Simon.
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 8
Kudos: 87





	intertwined

**Author's Note:**

> just something that's been in my drafts for months and months. got tired of staring at it so now it's your turn.

Simon hesitantly uses his key to unlock the door to Baz’s flat. He feels odd using it and toys with the cold metal nervously after removing it—with some difficulty—from the lock; Like he’s intruding on Baz’s life but Baz had insisted that it was easier if Simon had his own key. Simon had been more flustered than surprised when Baz tossed the key on the wooden coffee table with a loud clunk at Simon’s flat and plopped down onto the sofa chair with a pumpkin mocha breve, licking the cream off the top with unusual intensity.

  
They had argued about it for days: Simon insisted that he was already heading over nearly every night and that giving him a key would practically be moving in—which they had decided not to live together after having lived in the same room for 7 years.

  
“But that’s exactly my point! You’re already over practically every night, why not carry a key so that I don’t have to open the door for you like you’re the fucking Queen!”

  
“Because I don’t live there!”

  
“Like hell you don’t!”

  
It made Simon’s cheeks turn red and heat to rise to the surface of his skin. Sometimes, Simon loved fighting with Baz; It almost made him feel like magic again. After everything that had changed in his life, Baz being positively infuriating would always be a constant. However, this was not one of those times that reminded Simon of how much he loves his boyfriend. Instead, this was one of those times when Simon hated his boyfriend for being right—which he often was.

  
Simon had gone over to his flat every day for nearly two weeks. Being October, their time as a couple was approaching a year, and recently they had been more reluctant to be out of each other’s company. Of course, Penny grew quite tired of seeing the two draped all over each other in their flat, so the only reasonable solution would be to move over to Baz’s empty one. (Fiona moved in with her new Normal boyfriend in August, although no one was to know of that except for Baz—and by extension Simon and Penny.)

  
It was clear that morning by Baz’s focused stare at his drink that he wasn’t supposed to say anything about the small metal key. Simon sighed softly before following this unspoken rule, deciding that even as stubborn as he was, they both knew that Baz would win. 

  
While he saw this coming days ago, he still hadn’t managed to calm his mind into thinking that this was not a gesture to signify the growing maturity of their relationship. He wasn’t quite sure if Baz himself understood the significance of exchanging flat keys because whenever it was brought up, it seemed to be only Simon that would blush to his ears and make a fool of himself stuttering. Of course, that wasn’t normal behavior for Baz when he was flustered, but Simon could recall a few times when he could make Baz stumble over words. 

  
Simon felt frustrated that Baz speaking incoherently is a major turn on for him, but when Simon can’t speak he’s just annoying. Baz would beg to differ. (“It’s flattering, Snow.”)  
The door unlocks with a loud “click.” Simon winces at the sound but presses on. 

  
He’s come to understand that Baz doesn’t have a routine sleeping schedule like Simon. At Watford, Simon had just assumed that he slept at random times to satisfy his hunting needs: sometimes he wouldn’t need anything so he’d go to bed early and sometimes he’d be out late hunting which meant that he would finally lay down when the sun came up. 

  
Now that Simon has Baz buying blood from the butcher shop downtown, he sees that Baz just goes to sleep whenever he feels like it anyways. Now and then he’ll stay up late with Simon on FaceTime or watch movies into the morning hours at Baz’s flat, but other times Baz is already asleep by the time he calls. While it’s an even 50/50 chance on whether Baz is awake tonight, Simon automatically assumes that he is asleep—just to be safe (although he desperately hopes that he is awake considering the grueling day that he’s had). 

  
As soon as Simon steps into the flat, eerie music pours out into the hallway. Simon looks to the ceiling and inwardly groans. Simon hates horror films; he finds them to be rather pointlessly aggressive and stress-inducing. Baz, however, finds great enjoyment in laughing at all of them and at Simon whenever he’s tricked into watching one. 

  
Simon quickly makes his way towards Baz’s bedroom—unwilling to stand around with the intensity of the music rocking his brain—to find Baz laying in front of his computer. 

  
Simon smiles softly at Baz’s sleeping figure and openly stares in affection. 

  
The movie plays on a pillow beside Baz’s head while he lays tangled around his sheets and numerous blankets. One arm rests above his head while the other is draped over the keyboard of his open laptop. Simon’s eyes jump to the exposed skin between his twisted white t-shirt and his pale blue pants and he instantly feels a blush burn across his face. 

  
Baz’s stunningly soft beauty never ceases to affect Simon in ways that he never thought possible—especially here when Baz isn’t scowling or guarding himself off.

  
Simon gently toes off his boots and slings his jacket over the sofa chair sitting in the corner of the room.

  
“Snow?”

  
Simon jumps at the sudden noise, but quickly smiles and tip-toes to the edge of the bed to glance at Baz who is groggily rubbing his eyes in a way that makes Simon’s heart melt. 

  
Sleepy Baz is the best Baz, in Simon’s opinion: he’s unknowingly soft and incredibly affectionate.

  
“Hey,” Simon says softly, reaching out and combing his fingers through Baz’s sleep ridden hair. (Simon loves it when his hair is messy.) Baz hums in response. “Sorry I’m so late, the neighbors at my flat—you know, the couple with the cats—well two of them went missing. We found them under the stairwell.”

  
“Didn’t they disappear twice last month?” Simon nods. “What do they do to those poor cats?”

  
Simon laughs lightly and reaches down to press a kiss against Baz’s forehead while he yawns. Simon gives an amused huff. “Only you could fall asleep while watching a horror movie. What were you watching anyway?” They both turn to the screen and Baz shrugs. He’s been doing that more recently and Simon assumes it’s his own fault. 

  
“It’s positively dreadful.”

  
“Hmm.”

  
Baz begins to untangle himself from the sheets wrapped around his body while also moving to the side to allow Simon enough room to crawl into the bed beside him. Simon recognizes this gesture and immediately discards his jeans—deciding to sleep in his shirt and pants for the night—and slips under the covers. 

  
Baz instantly wraps his arms around Simon’s torso and Simon melts into his arms, tossing one hand back into Baz’s hair while the other is wrapped around him, tracing light circles on his back. Baz hums again and pushes himself even closer to Simon.

  
“You didn’t even turn off the movie,” Simon complains. 

  
“If I don’t finish it I’ll have to start it over tomorrow.”

  
“Finish?” Simon scoffs. “You’re literally almost asleep. Again. The music is creepy.” He pushes the laptop closed and moves it to the nightstand.

  
Baz sleepily mumbles against Simon’s cotton shirt. “What time is it anyway?”

  
“I left my phone on the chair. Probably around 2:30?”

  
Baz sits up a little, resting his chin on Simon’s chest. “You have got to stop working so late. You do know that you have to be up tomorrow for school, right?”

  
Simons sighs and rubs his face.

  
Baz laughs and rolls his eyes dramatically. “You wanker.”

  
“Hey, you stayed up too so I don’t wanna hear it!”

  
Baz mumbles excuses in response and rolls his eyes again, but smiles when Simon does and pushes himself up just enough to hover over Simon. His hair falls like a curtain around Simon’s face and brushes his cheek. “You need a haircut.”

  
“Fuck off,” he replies, then presses his lips against Simon’s so softly that it’s almost dream-like. Simon grins into the kiss—basking in the familiarity of their light-hearted banter—and grips his boyfriend’s hips, slipping his thumbs under his shirt and rubbing light circles on his cool skin. 

  
Baz holds himself above Simon with one arm above his head, gently tugging on his golden curls; His other hand is quickly put to use as he slips his cool fingers under Simon’s t-shirt and runs his hand suggestively down Simon’s chest, stopping just at the feel of his pants.

  
Simon kisses back eagerly, excited by the prospect of some actual alone time with Baz. Life had been so hectic recently and Simon had been longing desperately to feel as close to Baz as he was during Watford when he was always just mere feet away. 

  
It was part of the reason why Simon resisted having a key to Baz’s flat. Baz, of course, already possessed a copy of a key for Penny and Simon’s but that’s different: Baz has control.  
Over the past year that they’ve been together, Simon has come to learn that Baz rarely acts on his wants. He’s patient and, at times, withdrawn. He waits for Simon for everything: holding hands, kissing, everything. He wouldn’t even sit on Simon’s bed without first being invited.

  
Simon showed less control over his desire for Baz. The young magician has never been well-known for his control over situations but he’s always been at his worst when it comes to patience when it comes to Baz. 

  
Baz still falls victim to his sentence-interrupting kisses, tackling hugs, and randomly intense makeout sessions: all just because Simon wants. He can’t help himself.   
Simon never really felt too sure of himself in any aspect of his life; But now—with Baz—he was sure for the first time. 

  
Sure of his place and where he belongs; Sure that he loves and is loved; Sure of what he wants and of what he needs: Baz. 

  
He is where he belongs. 

  
Simon and Baz.

  
Baz and Simon.

  
Having a key to his boyfriend’s flat wouldn’t change this, of course. However, Simon did fear that with the power to see Baz whenever he wanted—day or night—that Simon would never leave. 

  
Lately, he’s found himself thinking about what it would be like if they lived together again: like at Watford but so much better. Here—with Baz laying on his chest, legs tangled and hands intertwined—Simon couldn’t help but imagine. 

  
Every day could be like this. 

  
Every day could be magic again as long as Simon was with Baz.

  
Baz looks down at him questioningly as Simon abruptly pulls away. 

  
Simon’s nervous grin amplifies any worry that he might’ve had. Baz smiles back—a lazy smile that is saved just for Simon—and gently kisses down from his cheek to just below his ear. He then looks back at Simon and bright blue meets pale grey.

  
“What is it, love?” 

  
Simon looks surprised. “Nothing.” Baz raises his brow and gives a bored look. Simon’s eyes grow wider in protest. “Nothing!”

  
“Snow.”

  
“Baz,” he responds, like a prick.

  
“Quit being a git and tell me what has got you so worked up lately.” 

  
Simon sighs and pushes his head back, eyes glued to the ceiling above them. Baz flips over so that he’s laying on his back next to Simon. He props himself up on one elbow and watches as Simon continues to stare at the ceiling, eyes furrowed and expressions changing ever so slightly—traitorously revealing his internal struggle. Baz frowns.

  
Simon released a deep breath. His eyes dart to his boyfriend beside him, then back to the ceiling before he speaks. “I just—” 

  
Simon cuts himself off, struggling to find the proper words with Baz’s light silver eyes staring.

  
Baz nudges Simon after a moment, “Go on then.”

  
“I just—” he pauses again and fiddles with the sheets underneath him, “—miss you. I guess,” he adds on in a small sort of whisper. Baz stares at Simon and shifts uncomfortably.  
“You see me daily, Snow. What more do you want? A locket holding my picture?”

  
“Maybe,” Simon jokes, biting back a grin. Baz rolls his eyes and fights back a blush. Simon leans into Baz, placing a quick kiss to his collarbone before continuing. “Do you ever miss Watford?”

  
Baz blinks. “Of course.” Simon pulls the blanket up to his chin, all of a sudden feeling shy. “Some things, I suppose. The football pitch; Dev and Niall, on occasion; Having Bunce in class—although let's keep that bit to ourselves, yeah?”

  
“I miss Pritchard’s cooking.”

  
“Of course that’s what you miss the most. Your appetite is appalling, Snow.” 

Simon pushes his elbow into Baz’s ribs, making Baz bark out a laugh before grabbing his hand.

  
“That’s not what I miss the most,” Simon whispers with a gentle squeeze of his hand. “I miss our room.”

  
“Crowley, I don’t.”

  
“You don’t?” Simon asks, feeling instantly saddened.

  
“Absolutely not. Half of our time in that room was spent driving each other mad.”

  
Simon swallows nervously. “And the other half?”

  
“Well, I suppose the other half was spent trying to avoid each other.” Simon nods, shifting his eyes back to the ceiling. “I couldn’t stand being in the same room as you. It was exhausting trying to hide that I was completely in love with you,” he adds, pressing his hand to Simon’s jaw and gently guiding him to his lips.

  
The kiss is quickly broken when Baz turns his head to yawn.

  
“We should sleep,” Simon says, resting his arm across Baz’s stomach. Baz places his hand on top of his and presses it there.

  
“Is that what’s been bothering you? Watford?”

  
“Oh,” Simon had nearly forgotten. “Not exactly.”

  
“What is it?” Baz asks, then—out of fear of crossing a line—quickly adds, “You don’t have to say if you don’t want to.”

  
“We should live together again.” Simon had thought it best to blurt it out so that it wouldn’t drag on any further but Baz’s silence makes him second guess himself. “I mean if you want to. I just thought it might be best, is all. We wouldn’t have to take the train to see each other. And you wouldn’t have to worry about forgetting your school books at my flat anymore. Also, Penny wouldn’t—”

  
“You want to?” Baz interrupts, pulling Simon closer.

  
“Do you want to?”

  
“I—” He stops. “I want to.”

  
“Really?”

  
“Of course. You’re sure you want to?”

  
“Yes. I’ve been meaning to ask you. I want to move in with you.” He tilts his head up to see Baz’s face. “I miss living with you.” Baz looks stuck somewhere between confused and happy. Simon tightens his hold. “It won’t be like Watford, though. I promise not to annoy you. On purpose, anyway.”

  
Simon watches as the corner of Baz’s mouth quirks up into a small smile. 

  
“Alright then, Snow.”

  
“Simon,” He reminds him, suddenly wanting to hear his name from Baz’s lips.

  
“Simon.”

  
Simon presses himself back into Baz, grinning into his chest, and intertwines their legs in the way he likes best: no space left between them.


End file.
